Thee I Worship
by Katie Havok
Summary: "Working too hard, still," and there's no reproach in his tone. Only quiet acceptance. "I will dedicate my evening to relaxing you. It's not healthy for you to be so tense." A kiss on her shoulder blade and she can hear the smile in his voice. "I've missed you, Tina."


Warming: _**smut** **!**_ This was originally posted on Ao3 January 3, 2017, and I'm adding it to my collection here for the benefit of my own ego.

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Newt catches her on the steps of the case and draws her into the circle of his arms.

"I've missed you," he says as his hands work at the fastenings of her blouse. With each opened button, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to her skin. She's fresh from work so she knows she tastes of sweat and city smog, but she can't bring herself to care. Newt doesn't seem to mind, dragging his lips down her sternum, over the slight curve of her belly and dipping in to taste her navel, while Tina tries to remember how to breathe.

When he climbs back up, he spins her until she faces away from him and pulls her into his chest. Then he glides his hands up and over her back, clever fingers finding the kinks and easing them out.

"Working too hard, still," he murmurs and there's no reproach in his tone. Only quiet acceptance. "I will dedicate my evening to relaxing you. It's not healthy for you to be so tense." A kiss on her shoulder blade and she can hear the smile in his voice. "I've missed you, Tina."

Tina rolls her head forward with a pleased sound, smiling at the feel of gentle fingers working the column of her neck. He rolls and pinches muscle and tendon, easing the gathered tension there before moving on to her shoulders and arms. He kneads down to her fingertips, then clasps their hands together.

She turns her head and angles her jaw so she can kiss him, breathing deeply of his scent. He smells exactly as she remembers: bitter herbs, the tang of sweat, and an underlying earthiness that she identifies as simply _Newt_. His scent calms her almost as much as his ministrations, but it also serves to reminds her that it's been _months_ —and she has been lonely.

Sensing the turn of her thoughts, he deepens their kiss and guides her hands to the collar of his shirt. Tina divests him of his garments quickly, relishing the familiarity of mottled skin under her palms. He dips to work the buttons of her slacks and she's impatient to feel him, so she shimmies out of them and kicks them aside, never breaking their kiss.

Newt's arm flashes out, and there's a terrific crash behind her. Then calloused hands are gripping her behind, kneading her cheeks while lifting her. She gasps raggedly when he deposits her on his workbench, but his mouth is _sinful_ and his kiss is demanding so all thoughts are driven from her head except a pounding refrain of _Newt, Newt, Newt_.

He makes a throaty sound when he releases her lips, and it goes through Tina like a spike. He moves his mouth lower, dragging his teeth and tongue over her skin, nipping and sucking. He finds and swirls his tongue over the twin moles on her left breast before sucking her nipple, causing her to keen and arch against him. When her breast has been thoroughly ravished, he switches to its twin, sampling her until she is shaking against him.

Newt dips lower to kneel, calloused palms gently parting her legs. Newt samples the crease at the juncture of her hip and leg, deeply inhaling her musky scent. He nuzzles his face into the soft skin of her inner thigh, stubble rasping, and smiles as she gasps.

Tina watches through wide eyes as he hooks her thighs and pulls her forward until she is even with the edge of the table, and casually drapes her legs over his shoulders.

"Is this all right?" he asks, and she goggles down at him. The sight of Newt—flushed and sweaty and well-kissed, his mouth hidden by her mound and his eyes preternaturally green—is enough to make her moan reflexively. She manages a shaky nod, his unexpected and unselfconscious wantonness taking her voice away.

Newt lifts a hand to stroke her dark curls. He exhales sharply when he finds her slick and ready, and the feel of his breath makes her whine. Eyebrow quirked, he slips one finger into her heat, eyes flashing between her face and where he teases her, gauging every reaction. He seems almost playful as he pets her most intimate place, but quickly grows serious when he observes the profound effect he has on her.

"Lovely," he murmurs, and glides a finger up to her hood, using her own slick fluid to swirl around the silky nub nestled there. The sensation causes her to jerk against him, and his fingers fumble away. Nonplussed, Newt snakes one arm around her hip and holds her steady. Then his fingers dance: swirling around and over before sinking into her heat, sliding deep before returning to her hood. He drinks in her reactions intently, focused on where she's spread and bared before him. Tina draws deep breaths through her nose, the teasing enough to simultaneously relax her and wind her up, and luxuriates in the attention.

Newt adds another finger and rocks into her deeply, crooking against her inner walls. His eyes flick up and catch hers as he plies her. Then he deliberately leans forward, maintaining intense eye contact, until she can feel the heat of his breath—and _curls_ his tongue against her.

Tina chokes, galvanized by the new sensation. One hand finds his hair and digs in, raking over his scalp; the other acts as an anchor on his shoulder as she moves against him, unable to contain the autonomous roll of her hips. Newt makes an approving sound.

She rocks and shudders breathlessly, strong thighs clenched around his head. He works her patiently, adding a third finger and seemingly tireless as he tightens his jaw to further the reach of his tongue. Occasionally his eyes find hers, seeming to stare into her soul, but more often they're closed as he focuses on his task.

His efforts edge her toward release, her body winding tight around him until she's thrumming with tension. Once she's there, however, she can't seem to get the final _push_ she needs to tumble over the edge. Newt senses this and removes his mouth from her with a wet suckle. He takes a moment to regroup, jaw damp against her thigh as he catches his breath.

"What do you need, Tina?" he asks, and his voice curls around her, deep and smoky. "I need you to tell me how to make you come."

His _words_ are nearly enough to do the job, and Tina fumbles desperately to haul him up for a kiss. "Just you," she gasps against his mouth, reaching between their bodies to hold him. "I just need you, Newt."

He groans as she squeezes him, and again when she strokes his length. In her hands he is hot and heavy, tip weeping fluid as she rubs her thumb over it. He buries his face into her neck as he jerks against her and covers her hand with his own. His eyes are unfocused when he leans in to kiss her, gently directing her hands away and reclaiming control of the situation.

Newt guides her legs up and over his forearms, hooking the bend of her knees into his elbows and angling her hips on the workbench. Trembling, she guides him to where she aches, and they both gasp when he sinks home. He pauses to gather his resolve, breathing deeply as their foreheads lean together. Capturing her mouth with a hungry sound, he begins to move.

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," she breathes, and her head drops into the wall.

Newt sets a firm but unhurried pace, withdrawing almost entirely before sinking back in. He hangs his head to gaze at where they are connected, watching as he slides into her while her hands grapple at his shoulders and arms and the small of his back, made frantic with the building pressure. Tina arches and strains against him, desperate for friction, and he smiles shakily when he increases his stride.

"You're close," he gasps, and she can see the tension around his eyes, there in the clench of his jaw as he contains his own reactions. He's trembling when he brushes her hand and gestures with his chin. Catching on, Tina releases his shoulder to work down between them to where he slides into her and uses the tips of her fingers to press against herself. She hisses her satisfaction, and they moan together.

Tina tightens viscerally with the first outrider of her orgasm, and Newt bares his teeth. The second ripple of warmth rushes outward from her core, urged on by his steady motion, and her breath stutters in her throat. A third wave and her cry is a wild thing as heat and pressure expand and release, and she shakes herself apart.

" _That's_ it, Tina. That's my girl," he murmurs, his voice a fixed point as she contracts around him. "I can _feel_ your heart beating." The wonder in his voice prompts her to sob his name while bracing against his solid form, over and over.

She returns to herself in stages, catching her breath and gradually relaxing her hold on him. He slows, rocking her gently while his hands flit from her breast to her hip to her knee. Newt's eyes are luminous as he takes her measure, nuzzling into her hair and inhaling deeply.

"That's better, isn't it?" he asks, and she huffs breathlessly in response. Newt shifts to free her legs and guide them around his waist. That's when she realizes that he's still hard within her, patiently waiting for her to calm before pursuing his own release. The thought warms her, and she doesn't try to hide her smile.

"Seems to me the job isn't finished," she teases as she winds herself around him. "It's your turn now, Mr. Scamander."

He requires no further urging, nodding once and inhaling sharply before setting a bruising pace. Tina holds on and watches as her reticent man turns into something else, something wild and Fae until his hips stutter and his head falls back. She drags him closer, raking her blunt nails down his back as her mouth finds the hollow of his neck and latches on. Her mouth is displaced when his head falls forward, and he _growls_ deep in his chest as he locks gazes with her.

Her name spills from his mouth, shaky but reverent while his rhythm falls apart. Tina observes in wonder as he clenches his eyes and jaw and pulls her close, his warmth filling her when he shudders to completion. A series of aftershocks pulse through where he leans against her, and she soothes him through it until he is warm and pliant in her arms.

Tina squeezes him close once their breathing has returned to normal, then apologetically shifts in his arms. "I'm sorry," she says when he blinks owlishly at her. "But I can't feel my legs and I need to go clean up. I'm sitting in a _puddle_."

He strains out a laugh while withdrawing from her body, wincing at the friction against his overly-sensitive flesh. He helps her lower her legs and stand, steadying her against pins-and-needles and rubbing the big muscles in her thighs.

"So sorry," he murmurs, and she knows he means it because he won't meet her gaze. "I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to discomfort you, Tina."

She cups his chin to raise his face to her and gives him her softest smile. " _Newt_. You absolutely, positively did _not_ hurt me. I needed that more than you realize. I think I may be able to sleep tonight. And in the morning, maybe you'll let me stretch my legs around you."

She allows the suggestion to sink in, watching his reaction. He looks first surprised, then pleased, then worried. "Merlin's _bloody_ sack, Tina," he gasps in mock-outrage. A thoughtful pause, then: "At least allow me to eat something first. Something with protein."

Laughing, she takes his hand. "I think we can manage that," she agrees, and allows him to guide her to the camp bed.


End file.
